The Lies We Tell Ourselves
by merlintriss
Summary: Very AU, from the end. Character Death early on its mentioned in the full summary inside and based on a prompt by sparklybee. Rorschach/Silk Spectre II, so lots of angst. One-shot.


Title: Lies We Tell Ourselves  
Author: merlintriss  
Rating: M  
Pairing/Characters: Rorschach/Silk Spectre II  
Prompt: Dan is the one who gets obliterated at Karnack instead of Rorschach. Jon still leaves Earth. Rorschach and Laurie return to New York City together, and have a "romantic" or sexual relationship in post-squid (or post-Manhattan-plot, if you'd rather write movie verse) utopia. Keep them in character and raw and gritty, please. --Prompt #2 requested by sparklybee for Week #010 of the Weekly Watchmen LJ Community.  
Disclaimer: I went with the sexual relationship, but I'm not well versed in sex, so its glossed over a little. And there's some minor "bad" language, but you'd probably get worse walking through a high school on a Tuesday.

She "knew" him as Walter. Without his mask, without "his face," she supposed that was what he was. He hadn't told her his name, still insisted on being Rorschach, but when she had found herself in his apartment-a one bedroom affair with the bed practically in the kitchen sink-snooping hands had made themselves useful and a bill with the name Walter Kovacs had appeared. Even superheroes pay to keep the gas on.

It shouldn't have happened like this. She should be with Dan, sweet well-meaning Dan, or even God-like Jon, in a crystal castle exploring unknown worlds. Instead she felt like a hypocritical whore, lying half wrapped in a brown blanket on a broke-down mattress next to a man she had always hated.

She lied to herself and said that it could be worse. She could be with the real villain in this mess-could be fucking Adrian every couple of nights. But that wouldn't be worse. Because then, at the very least, she could be living up to her mother's expectations-she'd be a trophy for the world to see. Silk Spectre II weds Ozymandius. XOXO for life. Her mother would be so pleased. It wasn't like Adrian had offered; he would've thought it beneath him. If he wanted her, he knew he could've had her, when she found Dan's blasted remains next to shining radioactive Jon. She was easy pickings then.

It should have been Rorschach. They both knew it. With their shared expertise, they had barely managed to get Archie back to Dan's place without slamming him into an asphalt basketball court.

They had barely gotten outside of Archie when she had broken down, just far enough away from Jon and Dan's obliterated corpse. She still didn't get it. Why couldn't Dan let his moral high ground go? The battle was already lost. Adrian had won the war without letting his opponents fire a single shot. But Dan couldn't' let it go. His weak morality, it wouldn't let him realize that he had already lost, that this time, being the white steed wasn't going to get him anywhere. He'd said he wouldn't take this lying down, that the world had to know the truth, then walked into the snow. She had followed only seconds later, just in time to see Jon vaporize the man she was sure she was going to love.

There hadn't been much left of Dan's home when they got there, the upper half lying in rubble, but his "secret lair" had remained virtually untouched. The glass cases where he kept his owlsuits were now metal frames around empty uniforms, and it was when she reached those and caught a whiff of Dan, that calming scent, that she had collapsed onto the grating, metal digging into her knees, her tears falling thick and heavy through her fingers.

His fingers, rough and calloused, had skimmed over the edge of her shoulder, an attempt at comfort, one of the rare moments when Rorschach seemed almost human. And she had taken it, used it, grabbed his hand and levered him against the wall. If he had wanted to break free he could have, but she had him, back pressed against the concrete walls of a home that should have belonged to a smiling Dan.

She had taken him against the wall, not caring that he smelled like the gutters, or that this was Rorschach of all people. Not caring that she had to first kiss him through the mask, her tongue slippery against the undulating white and black fabric. She had used her teeth to pull it up, since his hands were busy supporting her weight as she thrust into him.

He wasn't Dan. Sweet, compromising Dan, who took things nice and slow, who tried to last when he was barely there to begin with. No, Rorschach was not Dan. After the first time, when shock and guilt had forced him into her mercy, he was once again an aggressor. Rorschach didn't compromise. Even in walking away alive from Karnack, Rorschach hadn't really compromised. He was still alive, he could still win.

She didn't believe that. But staring past him into the darkness where Dan's night vision goggles winked at her, she sought only the comfort his body could give, not the lies they told themselves when they left alive.

She had thought that that night was a one-time thing, that she would never again see Rorschach. But she had seen him, had finally recognized the man on the street corner with the "End of the World" sign as the man she had known for years. It was the red hair that gave it away, that sickly bright shade that didn't seem to be on anyone else. He wasn't pretty, with or without the mask, but in her state, he would do.

She had asked him out for coffee, and he hadn't seemed surprised when she recognized him. Merely accepted the half-warm cup of coffee from the street vendor who was trying to tough out the reconstruction of Manhattan. As they talked, she saw that the wall across the street had been seared with the image of a couple, the larger figure protecting the smaller from the blast. Maybe it was just kids and spray paint, but the sight unnerved her.

He hadn't needed to invite her back to his place, especially since they both knew where that would lead. They had barely gotten through the door when he had pressed her into his mattress and worked down the black tights she had worn that day. It seemed like all she wore was black.

They were both liars. She wanted to mourn for a man she had barely had time to love, for a city she had never cared for, and a life she hadn't wanted to live. He needed to feel he hadn't compromised, hadn't sold out when the cards had been on the table. And even if she hated him for not dying in Dan's place, pressed close to his muscled body under the threadbare blanket, he would have to do.


End file.
